Lokas Holmgang
by jaqueline-littlebird
Summary: Back in Asgard after The Avengers, Loki demands trial by combat, something akin to a battle ordeal. Rated for violence and character death.
1. Such is the Holmgang Law

**A/N:** Written for a prompt on Norsekink LJ. The holmgang law is based on an actual old law text from Kormáks saga, thanks to good old Wikipedia.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money.

suggested music for the fight scenes: „Mayenzeit" by Schelmish, or „Die with Honor" by Manowar

* * *

**Lokas Holmgang**

Eventually, the Allfather decided to send Loki to Midgard, disguised with a glamour, his mouth sewn shut for his own protection as much as the mortals'. No spellwork, no lies, and no telling anyone of his Jotun heritage.

Thor went down to the dungeons to inform his brother. When nearing that special cell, he heard rythmic thudding, and the mutterings of guards: „ … hopping mad ...", „ … bag of cats."

The thunderer quickened his steps.

Rounding the corner, he stopped, taking in the unexpected scene. Two guardsmen – still oblivious of his approach – stood watching, laughing softly, as Loki inside the whitewashed prison room wielded the bedside table in his left, jamming it into the wall over and over again.

Step back, raise table, lunge, thud. Step back, swipe left, lunge, thud. And then, with his right, he threw the water bottle. The thing, being made of unbreakable dwarven glass, of course bounced off.

The guards chuckled. „Batshit crazy." „Told you so. Bet still stands. Ragnar says he's been at it for weeks."

Thor cleared his throat. The guards turned and stood at attention. „Your highness!"

„You will not speak ill of your prince. He is my brother and a son of Odin."

„Yes, your highness."

„Leave!"

The guards shouldered their spears and scuttled off.

„You must be truly bored to come down here. Come to mock, or gloat?" The god of lies sat down heavily on the cell's single chair, a sheen of sweat on his brow and chest. He looked pale.

Thor noticed his brother's hair had grown long and wavy, much like Volstagg's. Had it really been so long since their return from Midgard? Yet, Loki had not grown a beard. He never had, the thunderer idly mused. They had teased him a lot about that, back in their days of youth. Until so many ladies of the court had fallen for the younger prince's smooth face, and he'd had set a fashion trend. Back then, even Thor had shaved for a while. Now with the knowledge that Loki was a Frost Giant by birth, the more surprising thing was he had hair at all.

„Neither, brother. Father has made up his mind about your punishment. Ready to hear it? And do not cause me any trouble!"

And Loki grinned. „When do we start?"

* * *

Only the small council sat assembled – well known courtiers like Bragi, Tyr and Freyr. There was no need to call in the Allthing when a father delivered judgement on a son still living under his roof. Not even uncles Vili and Ve had bothered to leave their mountain castles to witness their nephew's newest punishment.

The buzzing of voices ceased when the princes entered the golden hall, Thor dragging Loki by the bicep. The thunderer took his own seat at Odin's right.

Standing alone in the middle, hands in chains, long hair unkempt, and clad only in simple green shirt and trousers, his little brother looked small and vulnerable in this hall of warriors in shining armour. Yet the trickster smirked.

„Loki!" Odin intoned; then, after a pregnant pause: „My son. For your crimes against your brother, Asgard, and a realm under our protection, I declare that you will be ..."

„No." Loki interrupted.

Outraged muttering broke out and ceased only when the Allfather stood and raised his hand, but it was Loki who spoke again.

„Spare your breath." Pause. „Father." Smirk.

Standing tall and proud, shoulders back, gaze around the audience. Silvertongue had everyone's rapt attention.

„I demand trial by combat, as they did in the old days of grandfather Bor's reign. Crimes – I committed not. Everything I did was done for Asgard – as her lawful king. Noone shall slander my name by saying otherwise. Name your champion, Allfather. I will fight him to the death."

* * *

The next day, Thor sat in the library, studying out of his own free will for the first time in his life.

„_Such is the holmgang law: The carpet shall be five ells long,"_

On the margin, some jokester had scribbled the question whether that was in reference to the bearskin rug Bor had fought Böltun on to gain his daughter Bestla's hand in marriage, or if the size matched a skinned Jotun.

_„fastened with the carved poles called tjösnur. And the man who does this shall grip his earlobe, look at the sky through his legs and say the tjösnublót spell. And this shall be surrounded by three squares marked with hazelnut rods, each one wider by one foot. Then the fighting place is proper." _

Again a margin note, this time in Father's hand: _„__Spell works everywhere, islet or parting of ways not necessary. Prevents magic use for: Aesir" - and then in red ink: „confirmed". „Vanir – confirmed. Midgardians – confirmed. Alfar – confirmed. Dökkalfar – confirmed. Dvergar – confirmed. Draugar – confirmed. Jötnar (earth) – confirmed, frost – confirmed, fire – confirmed."_

Thor felt a chill creep down his spine. Father had fought many duels in his youth, battling foes from all the realms. Had some of those fights not been for honour, but to test his spellwork? How could a Midgardian have been a worthy opponent for Odin back then? They had probably barely invented the sword, if that.

On with the law text: _„Each man may have three shields. If all of them are splintered, he needs to fight on with his weapons only. The challenged man deals the first blow. If one steps outside the hazels, it shall be said that he fled. His case is lost, and he has to pay 24 Öre of silver for his life on top of all else."_

So this text had been written after the introduction of the silver currency. Thor had slept through most of his history lessons, and doodled sketches of monsters to slay during the rest, but he saw the Draupnir Gold Dump with its ever-growing hills of golden rings each time when riding out to the south, and had asked about it. It was near unbelieveable that people had payed with gold in the old days.

„Thor!" Sif stormed the library like an outraged fury (sans feathers and writhing vipers). „Here you are! Where are you when I need you?"

Puzzled, the crown prince closed the tome he had been reading. „You have need of me, Sif?"

„Your father won't let me fight! Just because I'm a woman! It's unfair; you must convince him!"

„Fight?" Thor still did not get it.

„The holmgang. Loki's challenge. We can't let him get away with it! The Allfather forbade me to fight him, because women did not duel in the old times. How is that fair? He chose Hogun instead, 'cause he voiced suspicion against Loki first, but it's really just bias about men and women! I could just as well ..."

But Thor stopped listening. Hogun the Grim would never retreat when his honour was at stake.

* * *

All yelling and argueing behind the scenes had been for naught, and finally Thor relented. No, the king of Asgard could not name a lesser warrior his champion. A weak man to be slaughtered, that would be a mockery of a battle ordeal.

No volunteers had come forth anyway. Old grudges harboured for centuries after some of Loki's pranks seemed forgotten in light of his heroic defeat of Laufey the monster. Some elders sounded even outright pleased, calling Loki a man of tradition for his oh so old-fashioned way of settling legal conflict.

Even the families of the guardsmen murdered in the weapons vault by those Jötnar Loki had let in were convinced Loki Laufey's Slayer had nothing to do with the incident. One grieving widow had even voiced her bitter disappointment that the prince had not completed the task of destroying the monsters' planet. None of their kin would claim their right to replace Hogun in the holmgang.

Thor consoled himself with the knowledge that his brother could flee from the fighting place at any time, accepting defeat – and guilt – but surviving. Banishment to Midgard would be good for him for sure.

* * *

On the scheduled day, Thor went down to the dungeon again, this time to supervise the preparations. No poison, no hidden throwing knives, or whatever trick his brother might have planned that gave him the confidence he could win this duel.

Loki's footboy was already there, with the oddest assortment of armour Thor had seen in a long time. Loki's sword was not. „You forgot Lævateinn, boy." Thor said sternly. „Go and get it!"

Before the nervous youngster could dart off, Loki stepped close to the glass barrier. „No, stay, Tjalfi! It's allright, Thor. I will request something standard issue from the armoury. The law states clearly that no magic is allowed; that extends to magic weapons, I should think."

Of course, Loki's personal sword was magic. Normally a seax, it could adjust in size as needed, and even shrink to a throwing knife that never missed its mark. He had forged it himself and engraved it with runes, back then during his first long-term banishment to one of the dwarves' kingdoms, following „the hair-do prank". An unfamiliar weapon would diminish the trickster's chances further.

Under Thor's watchful eyes and with the footboy's assistence, Loki put on his armour, so unlike the modern vanishable lightweight vibranium pieces (which were, of course, magic-imbued): a thick, quilted gambeson and a long-sleeved, knee-long chainmail shirt on top of it; chainmail trousers; metal-strengthened boots and gauntlets. He left the helmet off for now; an ancient-looking thing with aventail and nose guard. Thor could see it was thickly padded as well.

Where in the nine realms had his brother gotten this kind of armour from, outdated long before the ice war? All pieces fit perfectly; they had to be custom-made. And then, the thunderer remembered: Centuries ago, in one of his more ridiculous attempts at getting father's attention, Loki had commissioned this armour and trained long and hard with the shield and spear – the same armament and weapons the Allfather was shown with on many a statue and gobelin, as such had been common in his youth.

Then, Tjalfi struggled to hand his master a round shield of oakwood, with bronze rim and buckle. Loki lifted it easily with his left and did a few test moves to get used to the weight: Swipe left, lunge forward, slam shield into wall …

Satisfied, he slung the thing over his back on a leather strap and grinned. „Splendid. I'm ready. Let's not make the mourners wait."


	2. Hogun's Stand

As expected, the Allfather had prepared the holmgangstad himself. Unexpected was the chosen place, at least for Thor, who had earned a withering glare for suggesting the training arena.

The forest glade by Bor's burial mound did not allow for crowds of spectators cheering their champion. Only elders, nobles and the most respected warriors sat in the shade of the oak trees, with a few guardsmen and servants in attendence. Not even the queen was present. As far as Thor knew, she had locked herself in her chambers three days earlier and started weaving a shroud.

The crown prince took his seat at his father's right. The wolves lay at their feet, and Odin's ravens were watching from a branch above.

Bragi and his adepts blew the lures. Loki stepped to the center on Thor's side of the fighting carpet, Hogun on the opposite.

The Grim was clad in chainmail as well, but his shirt looked a little too wide, and his helmet was a simple conic skull protection that would not hamper his vision. (Who wore a helmet these days anyway?) He also wore normal leather trousers. So Hogun had apparently gone for less weight and more agility, probably a tribute to Loki's usual swift fighting style of dodging and stabbing. His shield was painted gold – the king's colour, all Asgard's colour.

Before any announcement could be made, Loki spoke.

„People of Asgard! I stand before you to defend my honour against insulting and most baseless accusations brought forth by this man." He glared at Hogun, who stood silent.

„Traditionally, the holmgang is fought with spear, sword or axe, and the challenged man chooses the weapon. However, seeing as my _esteemd opponent_ will have to fight in ill-fitting armour, I leave the choice to him."

Approving mutters went around. Thor frowned. Loki was giving his sole advantage away. He was a passable swordsman, and well versed with spears and staves, whereas Hogun preferred massive weapons for mighty blows, like Thor himself. Usually he wielded a mace.

Predictably, Hogun chose a heavy battle axe. Loki picked a smaller, lighter one with a short beard and a stabbing spike. The combatants bowed to the king before entering the designated space.

„Worry not." Odin whispered to the son by his side. „Loki is well protected, even thickly padded I assume from his shape. A wise precaution. Hogun will drive him from the ring with a few strokes, no harm done."

That was when Thor realized why Hogun's chainmail hung so floppily on his frame: he wore no gambeson underneath. But what difference could that make, anyway?

* * *

The lures sounded again and the combatants lit into each other. On the small marked space there was no dodging blows or circling the opponent in search for an opening, unlike their usual style on the training ground. Basically, they stood, hacked, and blocked.

Hogun opened with wild swings, which Loki deflected, standing his ground against the onslaught until the smaller man's axe nearly got stuck in the soft bronze rim of his shield.

Hogun's outstreched arm, frantically wrenching his axe free, allowed the prince to land a blow that might have cleaved the hand off, if not for the chainmail. A lesser warrior might have lost the grip on his weapon, but Hogun recovered. He was more careful not to provide an opening from then on.

Loki coaxed and feinted, jabbing at Hogun's face when the other man lowered his shield to let his arm rest, swiping low at unprotected knees when he lifted it again. The prince himself recieved a few hits in the process, which did not seem to bother him. Thickly padded indeed.

Twice, the god of mischief had to call for a new shield because the old one was in splinters, before he took the initiative. Thor could see by now how tired Hogun's shieldarm was from the constant blocking of half-assed strikes; he was slower to lift the heavy thing now, not reacting to every feint anymore. Also he was bleeding from a puncture wound in the left cheek, and some shallow cuts on chin and neck, but that was nothing serious for a man of Asgard.

When Hogun struggled once more to get his defense up, Loki growled something Thor could not understand from afar, to which his friend shook his head. Next, Thor's little brother went berserk.

The crown prince had never seen anyone _fight _with a shield (at least not when they also had a weapon, unlike the Captain of America).

Swipe left to clear the opponent's weapon out of the way.

Strike forward with the massive wooden board held horizontal, breaking nose and teeth.

Jam it down on a knee or shin.

Loki hooked his hatchet's beard behind Hogun's shield and pulled, leaving his opponent wide open, defenseless.

Another shield-strike to the face; Hogun ducked, and the prince used his hight advantage and longer arms to the best, axe clanging on the shorter man's helmet. Hogun stumbled, dazed.

The god of mischief kicked his legs from under him.

The downed warrior tried to get up again on all fours, exposing his unguarded neck for a moment. The god standing above him cleaved his head off in one stroke, then stood wild-eyed, panting.

„I will have those 24 Öre from the family for the body."


	3. Sif's Complaint

Before Hogun's grieving relatives could step forward, or anyone else could do anything (even the Allfather sat as paralyzed as Thor himself) Sif stormed to the fighting place.

„I cry foul! Shame on you, Loki Liesmith! You used magic in this fight!" Looking around, she continued, frantically: „Can't you see it, you good men? He cheated. A true warrior of Asgard lies dead at the feet of that forke-tongued snake! No way could he have won in a fair fight. What Hogun said was true. I implore you all ..."

Odin stood, bristling with rage, but Loki spoke up faster.

„Sif Sjöundasdottir, self-proclaimed shieldmaiden."

Oh, Thor knew how much Sif hated to be called „daughter of the Seventh", after the mother she shared with Heimdall out of his nine.

„You have brought great grievance before this fine assembly. I speak not of your lies about my person. Everyone knows you can't accuse me of the same again. Nor would I take offense from name-calling by a shrieking shrew – you know me. Have I ever?"

He grinned. Sif fumed. Thor frowned.

Had his brother ever felt insulted by Sif? There had been barbs in their banter, but that could not have been serious, could it?

„No, girl, I speak of your accusation against my father, your king. You dared claim the king of Asgard allowed magic in a juidicial fight, by not properly preparing the place. Thus favouring me – his son – over the late Hogun here, the king's own representative. What convoluted scheme is that, spiteful Sif? Think you truly anybody would believe that? But the accusation has been made: you against the king of Asgard. I call upon Bragi or whoever may be able to renew the spell, and the assembled nobles to witness. Then I will fight you as my father's champion."

* * *

This caused an uproar; mostly about how a woman could not fight in court. Thor had thought Asgard was well over that, but had apparently underestimated how long these old codgers would stick to tradition.

It took Odin, Bragi and the assistants quite some time to restore order, Sif all the while standing in the center of combined derision of misogynistic five-thousand-year-olds. Thor calmed down the wolves, who had been upset by the commotion.

Loki had meanwhile retired to the sidelines, where his footboy handed him a drink, and a rag to wipe his face. Hogun's family approached him, and they talked for a while; quite amicably as it seemed. Loki was probably praising their dead kinsman's bravery and fighting skill, silver tongue at work.

The thunderer would miss his friend, whom he had always taken for granted in his silence and his calm assuring presence. Would that he could tell him that now. But what a way to go! The first judicial duel in well over a millennium. Not like being run over by a bilgesnipe, icinerated by dragon fire, or torn to shreds by trolls. This day would be remembered. The family finally left with the body on a bier, and the council decided that Heimdall had to step in for his stister.

Odin returned to his seat, worry on his face.

A problem arose in that no old times armour fitting Heimdall was on stock. Perfect, thought Thor. If something had to be commissioned, delaying the duel by some days, surely father could find a different solution in the meantime. Or maybe he himself, Thor, should claim his right as the firstborn to stand in for his father's honour? He could just grab Heimdall and throw him out of the ring. Well, probably. That was what he would do to most men, but the gatekeeper was taller and heavier than most. He'd have to exercise with Volstagg.

It did not come to that.

* * *

„Fine." said Loki. „We will then fight naked. This time, though, I will claim my right to choose the weapon."

The onlookers nodded. Sif had challenged Loki; of course this was his right. Thor knew Sif's brother had not trained with any weapon but his greatsword for centuries. He would do poorly with the spear and shield. But then, Loki's shieldarm was tired already.

Loki gave Heimdall a long, calculating look, then smirked. „I choose the poleaxe."

This sent some einherjar guards running to the armoury; they had not brought two-handed axes in advance. But an axe was an axe, it fit the rules.

Thor remembered that odd weapon: something like a spear with added axe blade and reverse spike, the wooden haft riveted with long metal plates. They had found it on Midgard at the same time Sif had taken a liking to the glaive. Neither of those exotic weapons had gained popularity in Asgard since.

Thor couldn't even remember how the Midgardians would fight with it. Probably the same way one fought with other two-handed axes and greatswords, he thought: wide, overhand swings. The way Heimdall preferred. The gatekeeper also had the height advantage. He could cleave Loki in two lengthwise.

Meanwhile, his little brother had undressed down to the smallclothes, and Thor did a double take. Loki's body was crisscrossed with scars.

The Aesir did not scar, they healed too fast. Loki had never had a scar before – except for the one on his right bicep, a burnmark from fighting a Fire Giant on Muspellheim. Nobody else in the company had scarred from Giant fire back then, though all of them had sustained injuries, some worse than Loki's … But only Loki had doubled over, crying in pain. They had, of course, teased him about it. In hindsight, though … Everybody knew fire was an effective weapon against Frost Giants. Someone had found out his brother's weakness and purposefully burnt every inch of his body. Who would do such a thing? And when? (And: One year back in Asgard, in the cell, and nobody had known of this? But then, they hadn't asked.)

Odin looked as astonished as Thor was himself. So did Heimdall.

Loki did not provide an explanation. Head held high, he stepped into the holmgangstad and grinned. With a mocking bow to Sif he spoke: „I thank thee, thoughtless lady, for delivering thy brother to my vengeance. Long have I desired to kill the faithless regicide – ever since he tried to kill me when I held the throne of Asgard."

That caused shouts and outraged muttering around, and even Thor started to rise, but Heimdall – known as statuesquely calm – flung himself at Loki, wild with rage, shouting „You tricked me then, cuckoo chick; this time I'll kill you!"

Bragi, helpless, blew the lure, the fight already on.

Loki ducked nimbly and tripped the storming Heimdall with the haft of his long axe.

The momentum nearly carried the gatekeeper out of the hazel barrier, but the trickster would not have that. Face contorted with hatred, he hooked his weapon's reverse spike into the stumbling man's shoulder and dragged him back. The audience gasped.

Heimdall had no time to recover, much less to raise his own axe for a mighty blow.

Loki lit into him, wild with fury, gripping his axe's haft like a staff (hands wide apart, one near the blade), blocking and parrying with ease; attacking with both ends alternately in quick with the spear end into upper arm, jam butt end on foot, let axe blade slide down the metal-braced wooden haft Heimdall was inexpertly trying to block with, cleaving off several fingers.

In a flurry of blows, Loki hit, as good as everywhere at once.

Soon, Heimdall was on the ground, left knee ruined, bleeding from countless cuts, axe out of reach, the god of mischief standing over him – not raising his poleaxe high over the head for a decapitating blow, thus opening his defense, no. The sly prince stood well braced, aiming the spearpoint at the downed man's heart. Grinning like a maniac.

This fight was over.

„Halt!" shouted the Allfather.

Stunned silence; only Heimdall's gurgling breathing (probably he'd received a stab to the lung) and the croaks of ravens were heard. The younger prince did not look away from his defeated foe one moment.

„Loki, son. You have won this fight on my behalf, and I thank you. You truly are a warrior of Asgard, worthy of my house. Now, grievances aside, I ask you to let Heimdall live. You know as well as I do Asgard needs him as her watchman, for noone else has sight like his. Let him live, Loki, for the good of the realm! The assembled nobles here will attest your victory."

Approving murmurs from the ranks (and some disapproving – the word „regicide" muttered often), but the god of mischief still stood tense, not giving any sign of relenting.

Heimdall looked ashen from bloodloss by now.

„I shall grant you a boon for this favour, Loki." The Allfather tried again, and then quietly: „Please?"

That got a reaction. Loki looked up, his face half in shadows from his long, tangled hair. For some time, the two gods just stared at each other, as if locked in silent conversation. Then Loki looked at Thor, and then he nodded.

The thunderer felt an icy touch of foreboding.

While Odin had the crowd cheer, Loki turned Heimdall over onto his belly and then 'helped' him out of the fighting place with hard kicks. Over the din, Thor could make out the words „Crawl!", „don't deserve mercy" and something about „other little oathbreakers" who could queue up if they dared.

Sif came running with a healing stone and tended to her brother once he was out of the ring, defeated beyond doubt.

* * *

The moment came to dismiss the assembly, and Odin stood, raising his arms, but Loki interrupted him once more. „Allfather! My king." He knelt, right hand pressed to his chest, but his voice carried over the clearing just as well. „I shall claim that boon now."

The old man had to gather himself (visibly, for those who knew him well), but what choice had he?

„Speak then, my son! And rise! I shall grant your wish."

Thor had never prayed in his life, because grandfather Bor had been hard of hearing in his last days, so asking anything of him was rather pointless, and the Norns were dreadful women, almost impossible to move. But now, he silently begged all the powers beyond the gods that his little brother would not make an outrageous claim. He could demand the throne after all. Or an army to conquer Midgard for him …

Loki rose, pushed his hair back from his face and looked over to Sif for a moment, smiling sweetly. To Odin, then, he spoke serenely: „This is the boon I demand of you, Allfather: You will marry my brother Thor to the lady Jane of Midgard before the morrow."

Thor cried with joy and flew to draw his brother into a crushing hug, while cheers rose all around once more.

He did not notice how Odin slumped down at the thought of a mortal daughter in law, nor did he contemplate how he would see his wife and children age and die before his own beard would turn grey.

He did not notice how Sif glowered, now manhandling her still injured brother with way less care. (His losing her the chance to marry the love of her life, Thor, would cause a rift between them for centuries to come.)

Thor was one to easily forgive; he never had indulged in sweet revenge. His brother's smile looked all sincere to him. Maybe it was.

END

* * *

**A/N:** If you wonder how marrying Thor to Jane can be a nasty trick on Loki's part, please listen to "Who Wants to Live Forever" by Queen while contemplating the fairytale ending: … and they lived happyly ever after for a few decades until Jane's hair turned grey, her face wrinkled, then a walking frame became necessary, dementia set in, and the same happend to their children another half-century later. Sif wanted to console Thor, but as the sister of a man known for attempted regicide, she was not allowed at court any more.

Also, if you can make the link work, I think the prompter on LJ who inspired this would appreciate another, more angsty and family-centered fill. Maybe one of you gracious readers feels inspired?

norsekink. livejournal ?thread =27546953#t27546953


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